Paradigms
by lieselmemingers
Summary: Tobias and Tris undo five of their preconceived ideas about sex.


A/N: Writing something for a new fandom is always a little daunting, so keep in mind that this is my first attempt with Tris and Tobias' characters. Please leave a review! Enjoy.

* * *

**Paradigms.**

i.

_Bigger is better._

It takes only a handful of nights together for Tobias to notice that she likes to keep her shirt on.

There's fumbling and kisses and she always seems to block the movement of his mouth downwards, and her hands like to shove his fingers downward towards her hips and legs. The pieces of herself that she feels safe with.

He sides his hand under her shirt and is met by the usual distractions; mouth against his neck, elbows forward to simultaneously block his touch and to push the small swells of her breasts closer together.

In the cold moonlight, she looks scared. Blue. Tired.

"Can I take your shirt off this time?" In the quietness of the room, wrapped in the reverence in his voice, it doesn't seem like such a weak question. It feels right.

She nods, but when he's tossing the cotton shirt away, she loses some of her famous nerve. He sees his old home in her; he sees the Stiff, and the girl, and the soul he loves best in this world. "I prefer you," he says; the answer to an admission she hasn't even made yet. And it's the truth. _I prefer you _to a thousand other girls with different curves and shapes. _I prefer you t_o everything. To everyone.

His lips find her nipples, his fingers pawing and loving and wanting. After a few moments, her nerve is back, and she leans back and enjoys it.

* * *

ii.

_Pleasure is selfish._

It feels so homegrown, the guilt that she feels when she finishes; it's hard to explain, and hard to let go of.

Growing up in a place of self-denial, there are foundations within them that finds it hard to _take_.

It surprises her a first, how hesitant he is. It's all about giving for him; he'll spend longer than she thought possible between her legs, all lips and tongues and fingers and _does that feel good_?

It takes a party, three glasses of soda laced with something that stung at the back of the throat, and an 'early night' before she gets what she _really _needs from him; for him to need her. Need her in a way that didn't stop to ask if she was all right every five minutes, because they had done this so many times that he could stop worrying about her.

She hears the music pounding somewhere overhead, or maybe it's beneath them, but they're turning on the sheets so rapidly that she can't tell which way is up and which way is down. And she's even less inclined to care, because Tobias is pulling her underwear off and is rubbing himself against her, ready as she is, and she doesn't have to jump through endless hoops or play the _is this good _game, because it's all good right now.

He props himself up over her and slides inside, and she pushes the longish black hair away from his face.

"Finally, the Stiff has left the building," she sighs, feeling drunk and loose lipped.

"On the contrary…" he looks like he might burst with suppressed laughter, "the stiff has just e_ntered _the building_."_

She covers her face with her hand. "You did _not _just say that."

* * *

iii.

_The Big Finish. _

She remembers reading a few passages from a book that was circulating at school; something forbidden and Amity and wild, where two carefree lovers made love is a cornfield or something like that. Since they didn't teach about sexual pleasure in Abnegation, it became the entire pool of her knowledge.

This is what she remembers; _a soft breeze floated across the lover's skin as they climaxed together, clinging to each other like the _etc.

And Tris remembers thinking; they finished together? How did their bodies know? Did they time it?

At the time, she was too shocked by the revelation – as were most of the people she knew – that women could feel satisfaction from sex at all.

As it comes to be with Tobias, after all that wondering, she thinks there is something to be said for watching him fall apart above her, or below her, and really being able to _see _it, without thinking about herself.

And a minute later, when she gets his full attention shoving her towards the edge of herself, she thinks that finishing together has far more appeal in writing.

* * *

iv.

_Sex is for the bedroom. _

They jump from the train with as much haste as they can muster, silent and thoughtful.

His hand is warm around hers, and in the dusky light she can see the harsh furrow of his brow and the tightness of his jaw. They walk until they find somewhere familiar, and she feels the corners of her mouth twitch at the sight of their ferris wheel silhouetted against the deep blue sky.

She sits him down in one of the rusty old seats, the hinges creaking back and forth as they try to forget everyone they've lost. Tris tries to kiss as though she doesn't hurt, but he forgets to, so the kisses end up desperate.

The sex is surprisingly tender, and his eyes keep flickering upwards, to where their ghosts stand up above, in a time before wounds and worries.

She rides him until her legs ache, somewhere between the future and the past.

Between love and desire and grief.

* * *

v.

_Make up sex is the best sex. _

It's something that Christina says in passing to break the angry tension between them. Tris comes back from the fight with a heart full of guilt at deciding to break away from him, and Tobias hasn't said a word to her since; hasn't acknowledged her at all other than to pull her against him and let out a long sigh of relief into her hair.

Later, he sits down on the edge of the bed and holds his head in his hands. She tells him she's sorry, and he shakes his head and winces as though she's slapped him across the face.

She tries to love the pain away, and he doesn't stop her. Christina's comment echoes around the room, hanging in the air around them, and so they go through the motions.

She ends up beneath him, with him inside her so deep she can't help but cry out, and her wounds from earlier sting, and she wants to be able to not care but she _does_.

And it's possibly the worst sex they've ever had.

She stops him with a hand on his chest. He hangs his head over her, the tip of his fringe tickling her forehead.

"This isn't what we need," she says. He nods and climbs off her.

She curls against him beneath the sheets, feeling his heartbeat pound against her ear. It's better. Things hurt less. The air is smoother. The panic has gone.

They're alive.


End file.
